Some Things Never Change
by raistss
Summary: Sequel to Any Day He Wanted. Will's father visits him, bringing a slew of old memories forward.


"I'm going to Florida," Will said.

"So you're retiring, then?" Jack asked. He didn't look surprised.

"Yeah. Need to get away from all of this. All of...him." He gestured at empty air, but they both knew what he meant. Hannibal still hung in the air, somehow. Will sometimes still felt that he was standing next to him, that they were still playing with words and thoughts and feelings like knives.

Jack nodded, solemn and understanding. He eyed the small streak of grey that had appeared in Will's hair. "Just don't stand on rooftops anymore. People get the wrong idea," he chuckled.

Will cracked a weak smile. "I won't," he promised. A gust of wind blew in through the hospital window, and Jack got up to leave. Will knew this wouldn't be the last time they saw one another, but he said good-bye anyways and found it in him to send a big smile in Jack's direction.

* * *

When Will had recovered enough to talk to visitors for more than five minutes at a time, his father visited. Thomas Graham had, of course, visited his son whenever possible, and had actually made it when Will was first stabbed in his cop years, and later when he had been (wrongfully) institutionalized at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. He'd also been at the trial, but nobody in the room was told who he was.

The man was 63 by now; Will being 39. His jaw-length, curly hair was grey with a few strands that remained chocolate brown, and a short beard covered his jaw, his mustache thick over his lips. It was obvious, if you looked at his face, where Will's looks came from. The only difference was that the elder had freckles on his face and had no glasses.

Sitting in the chair next to Will's bed, his expression pained, he looked over the machines Will was hooked up to, the hand he unconsciously held against his belly. "I've seen you in the hospital before, but…" He trailed off, unsure of how to express his feelings. "Your _therapist_ did that to you?"

"Yes," Will replied, a sardonic grin on his lips. "I gave therapy one shot. One. Look what happened to me. Never seeing another one of 'em." With his father Will was more comfortable socially, picking up on his speech patterns but not mimicking them, as he usually would. His own half-buried Southern accent came out too, and his father laughed.

"There it is," he said. "The "twang," as your mother described it."

"Oh god, Dad, she hates it," Will said, grinning. "She always did."

"Yeah. Not like she was any better though, with that New York accent of hers. Oooh, boy. Talk about hypocrisy. Too bad she's not here to listen to this conversation."

"She's still refusing to see me?"

"Yup. Says you should've stayed at that institution, even if you didn't kill nobody. Says you're dangerous and ought to be taught a thing or two about her little lifestyle."

Will frowned, a little discouraged by the comments. He _had_ actually killed two people, though he didn't say it. Garrett Jacob Hobbs's death had been legal, Randall Tier's close enough to legal to pass. Self defense. "I never really knew her," he admitted. "She wasn't around me much when you two were married."

"I know. She did that on purpose. Didn't like you 'cause you were too much like me. She wanted a carbon copy of her. Turns out it worked the other way around." Will smiled at that.

"I still fit in your clothes," he commented, and Thomas nodded.

"Always have," he agreed. "It's kind of funny how alike we are."

"You know, I don't think we've ever talked this much before. It's usually just...silent, between us." Will could say why it was that way, but he chose not to. He could see it in his father's eyes.

There had been too much going on for them to comfortably have a conversation.

* * *

When Will was three years old, Thomas began to teach him how to fish. By this point, his mother had given up on trying to get them to dress to her standards, and generally did not take the two with her when she went to events or meetings. Will was given his father's old clothes along with some clothing they had gotten from friends, and his wardrobe mainly consisted of Henley shirts, corduroy overalls, jeans, and one pair of beaten old boat shoes. His fishing gear was the same that Thomas had worn/used at his age.

If, say, Jack or Alana were to see a picture of Thomas and Will when he was a child, they might mistake it for a picture of Will with a younger boy, or perhaps his son - if he had one. (However, he did not.) The two were about as close as was possible for them; both being distant and quiet people.

The one definite difference was Will's empathy disorder, and his Asperger's. Thomas's father, Samuel Graham, had had Asperger's Syndrome, but since he was mostly able to overcome it before Thomas was born, nobody in the family really knew how to handle it. The empathy disorder, though, was unique entirely to Will.

Both had first been noticed in his school years. The kindergarten teacher saw how he often mimicked other children in speech patterns and physical behavior, and how he could relate to someone else's feelings, imitate them, but not understand them or know how he himself felt.

However, he lacked any problematic sensory issues and did not throw fits of any kind often, so he was not put into a separate class, but was monitored by teachers and had a guidance counselor. His parents divorced when he was five, and he never saw his mother again. There was no noticeable difference in his behavior, only the changes at home as his father had to work harder and more often to pay for their apartment.

Not long afterwards, they were forced to move into a trailer home.

Throughout Will's elementary and grade school years, he and his father moved from places in Louisiana and Mississippi, and stayed in Biloxi the longest. In school, Will grew frustrated with his empathy disorder, unable to stop feeling what everyone else was feeling. He had more difficulty than ever discerning his own emotions from the others, and began to find himself recreating scenes of various recent events in his head just by being in the area it happened.

By the beginning of his high school years, Thomas found a full-time job near New Orleans, and they stayed there until Will graduated, having settled on a police job. He'd taken all of the classes - psychology, police sciences, forensics, firearm science, ect. and was recognized as an outstanding student. The teachers gave him numerous recommendations.

Actually doing the work was an entirely different thing, though, and his empathy disorder only made it more difficult.

* * *

A/N: To be continued, don't worry. I based all of the parent relationship material off of how I saw it from descriptions in the episode "Ceuf," but it still ended up reflecting my own situation. What a coincidence. And yes, that whole conversation is how my own father and I talk about my mother. Only we cuss more.

Also, if the Asperger's part is off, I apologize - I haven't done much research on the subject, and the way Hugh portrays it in the show is so natural I don't even know what to look for.


End file.
